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ntinued the deep; relentless voice。 “Jane; e with me to India: e as my helpmeet and fellow… labourer。”
The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I had heard a summons from Heaven—as if a visionary messenger; like him of Macedonia; had enounced; “e over and help us!” But I was no apostle;—I could not behold the herald;—I could not receive his call。
“Oh; St。 John!” I cried; “have some mercy!”
I appealed to one who; in the discharge of what he believed his duty; knew neither mercy nor remorse。 He continued—
“God and nature intended you for a missionary’s wife。 It is not personal; but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed for labour; not for love。 A missionary’s wife you must—shall be。 You shall be mine: I claim you—not for my pleasure; but for my Sovereign’s service。”
“I am not fit for it: I have no vocation;” I said。
He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated by them。 Indeed; as he leaned back against the crag behind him; folded his arms on his chest; and fixed his countenance; I saw he was prepared for a long and trying opposition; and had taken in a stock of patience to last him to its close—resolved; however; that that close should be conquest for him。
“Humility; Jane;” said he; “is the groundwork of Christian virtues: you say right that you are not fit for the work。 Who is fit for it? Or who; that ever was truly called; believed himself worthy of the summons? I; for instance; am but dust and ashes。 With St。 Paul; I acknowledge myself the chiefest of sinners; but I do not suffer this sense of my personal vileness to daunt me。 I know my Leader: that He is just as well as mighty; and while He has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a great task; He will; from the b
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